


We Don't Speak of Texas

by owlpockets



Series: Déjà vu [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 03:20:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5031805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlpockets/pseuds/owlpockets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Tony might be having a mutual mid-life crisis.  Bored and lonely, they decide to drive to Mexico for a much-needed vacation after the Battle of New York.  Obviously, shit goes wrong because, let’s be real here, it’s Clint.  Sometimes, it is actually the destination that counts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Soundtrack available [here](http://8tracks.com/owlpockets/midlife-crisis).
> 
> Many, many thanks to my cheerleader-betas, [ImaginAries](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ImaginAries) and [Dirge](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirge), especially for listening to me go on and on about writing this ridiculous thing for months on end. ♥
> 
> This story is in the same universe as [Déjà vu](http://archiveofourown.org/works/493422/chapters/862622), though it is not necessary to read that first. They both take place right after the first Avengers film and draw from MCU and comics canon, and are thus extremely AU at this point.

“Clint. Clint, get up.”

“Nyuh.” Clint rolled over, knocking an open bag of chips all over the floor with his foot. “What the fuck, I’m sleeping.”

“You’re wallowing.” Natasha sounded sympathetic, but with an undercurrent of irritation. “Seriously, you’ve been in bed for fourteen hours straight. It’s…unbecoming for a man your age.”

“Unbecoming? What the fuck.” He threw a balled up dirty sock at her.

Natasha dodged easily. She put her foot on the bed and nudged his face sharply with her toes. “Gross. Get up before I drag you out by your ankles.”

Finally, Clint pried his sleep-encrusted eyes all the way open. Nat’s toenails were manicured in a deep pink, but it was chipping badly. He rested his hand on her warm and calloused foot, the faintly sweet odor of freshly showered skin kind of making him want to hurl. He shoved the offending foot off the bed and huffed a sigh of displeasure. “Fine, whatever. Where’s the coffee?”

“There’s a fresh pot in the kitchen, and a breakfast burrito, if you hurry. I only bought four and I’m really hungry,” Nat threatened. She dropped a pair of tatty sweatpants near his hand, easily reachable.

Clint pulled on the pants, sitting on the edge of the bed while he scrubbed a hand over his face. Nat had gone, but the sound of mugs clinking against the granite counter drifted back from the kitchen. He sure didn’t feel particularly rested, despite the fourteen hours of bunk time he had supposedly gotten. Clint didn’t bother with a shirt, hoping the cool, sterile air gusting from his apartment’s discreet vents would help chase the fog from his head.

“Okay, I’m up. Happy?” He snagged a mug and sat at the breakfast nook where two foil-wrapped burritos waited. _Breakfast nook._ What an ironic turn his life had recently taken.

“Very,” Natasha deadpanned in between bites. She was already halfway through her breakfast. She set down her food and chewed thoughtfully as she watched him across the table, expression unreadable. Clint took several large gulps of coffee, suddenly nervous of what she might be about to say. “You’re depressed.”

Crap. “Mehh…just bored.” Clint stared into his mug, swirling the contents slowly. 

Nat raised an eyebrow. “Look, I get it. I would be climbing the walls if I was suspended this long. Our…our friend died….” Her voice faltered a little. “And Loki really fucked with your head. No one’s expecting you to be one hundred percent okay with all that.”

“I know,” Clint grumbled defensively. “So…what? We gonna hug it out?”

Natasha smirked over the top of her mug. Both of her hands were wrapped around it and her shoulders were hunched forward, two little moments of body language that suggested she might not be feeling her best either. “Just eat your stupid burritos and I’ll leave it alone. For now.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Clint reluctantly unwrapped the foil. He wasn’t hungry, exactly, but putting food in his mouth would prevent him from blurting out anything he might regret later. For the first time in a long while, Clint was feeling the age difference between himself and his best friend, an uncomfortable brain worm causing him to think twice about admitting the things lurking in his head out loud.

___

It was a beautiful day. A beautiful, sunny, gloriously hot day full of misery. Tony frowned at the calm, glittering water. There was cheap chocolate ice cream dripping on his hand. “This was a dumb idea. Why did you make me come out here?”

“It was your idea,” Rhodey replied mildly. His hands were ice cream free, mostly because he was already munching on the cone. “I wasn’t about to protest. Pretty sure you haven’t seen the sun in three days.”

Tony sniffed and pushed up his sunglasses. “I was wallowing, it’s allowed.”

“I’m not saying it isn’t.” Rhodey chucked a wadded up napkin into the garbage, eyeing some encroaching seagulls waddling towards their feet. 

Tony tossed the rest of his half eaten ice cream to the birds and watched them converge in a vicious swarm. “I’m still not sure what happened. I mean, I do know, but I don’t? I’m not good at this relationship…business. Too bad I couldn’t have figured that out twenty years ago.”

“First of all, it’s not ‘business,’ and that might be part of your problem right there. People like things to happen organically. And with less totally impractical gifts. It’s easy to misinterpret that stuff.” Rhodey balled up the wrapper from his cone and lobbed it with exceptional accuracy at a gull that was getting too close. “Myself excepted, of course.” 

Tony gave him a look that said _you’re full of shit_.

“What? Okay, so it’s not like you should be taking relationship advice from me, but it’s true.” Rhodey shrugged, hands in his pockets. “You have absolutely zero chill.”

Tony huffed a quiet laugh and walked off into the sand a few feet away. He found a relatively clean patch and sat, filtering some of the fine grains through his fingers. Rhodey was right; he was always too fucking right. “Remind me why I keep you around again?”

“To make you look cooler. I thought that was obvious.” Rhodey joined him on the sand, and he looked serious despite the jokes. “Are you okay? For real?”

“Maybe, I guess.” Tony paused, frowning, and threw some sand at his friend’s leg. “Stop looking at me like that, I’m not going to fall off the wagon again. I have more than one creepy hovering friend now. When do you have to ship out?”

Rhodey didn’t look at all convinced ( _jerk_ ), but he didn’t press either. “Tomorrow morning. I can’t get away again for a couple of weeks. But we can talk on the phone.”

“Aw, honeybear, you do care.” Tony leaned over and attempted to plant a wet one on Rhodey’s ear, who fell over in the sand trying to get away. Tony missed their time together more than he would ever let on. Age—and Iron Man, if he was being completely truthful with himself—changed everything.

___

“Barton. Barton. Bartooon.” Slight worried pause. “Barton?”

At Natasha’s urging Clint had left his apartment and was instead staring at the TV in the lounge rather than his own couch. With Tony leaning over the back saying his name repeatedly like an obnoxious reminder that he had no life outside work anymore. “WHAT,” he finally roared, startling Tony enough to make him jump back. Clint smirked.

“Jesus Christ, why would you do that?” Tony snapped. He actually looked genuinely shaken, but Clint couldn’t muster enough energy to care. “I thought you were catatonic or something.”

“What, you’ve never watched Archer? Anyway, I heard you the first time.” Clint laughed, satisfied that he’d make his point. Tony was looking at him like he’d grown a second head. _A_ point, maybe not the right one. Oh well. “…So whad’ya want?”

“Do you want to go out? A bar…or pizza or something….” Tony looked like he was perhaps regretting this idea a little bit already and Clint did feel mildly bad about it. “I felt like getting out for a while.”

With Banner in the wind, Rhodes called away to work, Pepper avoiding anyone with a dick and the driver taking her side, clearly none of the usual suspects were around to entertain him. The _“and no one else is home”_ end of that open invitation hung over Clint’s head, but he was sucker enough to take it anyway, he figured. “Yeah, okay. You driving?”

“Like I’d let you touch any of my cars. You’re a one-man disaster area in an ugly flannel.” Tony was sniping back at him for the tasteless joke. That was probably a good sign that he was forgiven for the minor heart attack, Clint thought.

“Fair enough, I wouldn’t want to be seen with me either,” Clint grumbled as he rolled off the couch onto his feet. His feet found the pair of old sneakers at the foot of the couch and he grabbed his phone off the coffee table. “Nowhere too fancy, I don’t want to change.”

Tony gave him that specialized _are you kidding me_ look with one raised eyebrow. “I wasn’t even aware you owned other shirts, especially anything made after 1995.”

“1997,” Clint replied, as he followed Tony to the elevator. “But close enough.”

Tony wasn’t wearing a suit or anything technically advanced, but he still looked stylish and current in his t-shirt and jeans, Clint noticed. It was probably the $500 haircut, or however much it cost to look so polished all the time. Standing next to him probably made Clint look like the guy who scrubs the toilets at Stark Industries, but only the ones in the basement. Despite the jokes, his body language broadcasted that he didn’t mind or even seem to notice the state of who he was associating with; that baffled Clint more than a little bit since he’d come to know Tony personally.

An entire private floor of the parking level was dedicated to Tony’s cars, all attractively arranged and gleaming like they’d just rolled out of the dealership. They looked untouched, though Clint knew that couldn’t be true. Even the ones that hadn’t been driven yet had likely been tinkered with, upgraded, and detailed well beyond their original state. That was the exhausting thing about Tony—he could rarely appreciate something in its original state.

“Do you have any purple ones?” Clint asked, half in jest, but secretly hopeful that he might say yes. 

“Who in their right mind would buy a purple car?” Tony walked up to a relatively conservative silver two-door of some indeterminate European make. Clint had no mental capacity for cars that weren’t classic American steel.

He waved off Tony’s dramatically scandalized look as he opened the door to get in. “Don’t look at me like that, I like purple.”

“I know,” Tony groaned. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand that about you. But at least we can agree on music, I hope,” he added when Clint started playing with the stereo.

Clint snorted a laugh and settled on a Billy Idol track. “That’s something.”

The bar Tony picked was also surprisingly unfussy, with an old school pub-like atmosphere and healthy coating of dirt, peanut shells, and week-old Miller High Life that appealed to Clint. He ordered them a pair of IPAs and a large basket of curly fries on the assumption that Stark was paying and slid into a booth in the back. “I admit I’m kind of surprised you’d want to go to a place like this. I was kind of joking about not wanting to change.”

“Why does everyone say that every time I want to go out? It’s getting old.” Tony sounded exasperated. 

Clint scoffed, “Maybe because you spend all your free time schmoozing on the Upper East Side.”

“Bullshit, that’s work. I hate New York. Why do you think I moved to California?” Tony picked up a handful of fries from red plastic basket that appeared between them.

That surprised Clint. Certainly, the thought had never occurred to him that anything Tony did outside of the Avengers wasn’t for personal interest or pleasure. He might never fully understand how the business world functioned on a social level—that was more Natasha’s area of expertise. Clint sipped his drink thoughtfully. “What’s keeping you here? Things are quiet, go home for a while.”

“Yeah…I don’t think so. Pepper’s going to the house for a while.” Tony looked down, picking at the label on his beer. It wasn’t any great secret they’d all but broken up again, especially not to Clint, who made everyone else’s business his own whether they knew it or not. “She needs a break.”

“Mm,” Clint made a noncommittal noise, thinking of Natasha packing her bathing suit earlier that day while making vague allusions to a girls’ weekend away on the beach. This was something he had already decided he didn’t want to jump into. Tony and Pepper had seemed like they would always come as a packaged deal, and he could only guess that whatever was going on would work itself out in one way or another. “A little tropical getaway, then.”

Tony blinked and raised his eyebrows like a great revelation was dawning on him. “You’re so right, _we_ should take a trip. Let’s go to Mexico. Let’s _drive_ to Mexico.”

If Clint didn’t know better, he would have guessed Tony had had too much to drink. His eyes were a little bit glassy and he was suddenly speaking in earnest in a public place. Plus there was the fact that he apparently wanted Clint to come along on this spur of the moment road trip.

“Now you’re talking crazy. You have like, six private planes, why would we drive?” Clint signaled the bartender to bring him another beer. Anxiety tightened his throat and made it hard to swallow his drink as he considered spending that many hours trapped in a car with Tony and nowhere to hide. Anxiety or anticipation? Clint had a hard time telling the difference lately. Maybe it was actually both.

“Technically, I only have one that belongs to me. Man, I don’t know, I just want to drive somewhere. What do I have all those cars for if not to drive them?”

“You’re serious?” Clint could hear Natasha’s voice in his head, telling him to get his ass out of bed, get out of his apartment, and stop behaving like the world had ended because surprise, it actually hadn’t. Suspension from active duty wasn’t doing him any favors, despite the nonsense stated in his psych eval. “Like an actual vacation?” Clint continued cautiously.

“Why else would you fucking drive all the way to Mexico?” Tony rolled his eyes and drained his drink, looking worryingly more cheerful than he had half an hour ago. “I might even let you drive.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I’m in.” This was a bad idea. Clint could feel it coiling uncomfortably in his gut.


	2. Chapter 2

Clint was waiting on the penthouse couch with a duffel bag and a cooler by the time Tony was up and out of bed. He was reading a magazine and a large mug with black coffee in it was sitting on the table near him. 

“Uhh…” Tony said incoherently. He squinted at Clint and then at the counter where there was another mug and the other half of the pot of coffee. “How…?”

“Never mind, feed your caffeine addiction so we can get moving.” Clint looked overly eager for this time of the morning, but judging from the size of his coffee cup and level of liquid left in it, he had a big head start. And what time was it, exactly? It didn’t matter. Too early.

Tony poured and took a long sip. “Thanks, it’s good,” he managed to articulate clearly. 

“I was thinking that if we’re going all out on this thing, a convertible sounds good.” Clint flipped a page in the magazine, which Tony could now see was about vintage muscle cars.

Tony had already been considering a few as serious options over the past couple of days since they had decided to go. Some sunshine would probably do him a world of good. “I can manage that. Blue or black?”

“What kind of question is that? Blue, obviously. I sure as hell ain’t riding around looking like a goddamn spook on my vacation too.” Clint chugged the rest of his coffee and got up to take the mug to the sink. On his way past, he leaned in and huffed coffee breath in Tony’s face on purpose. “Are you going to get ready to go or what?”

This was definitely not the wake up call Tony had in mind and he wondered in a slight panic if Clint was going to be like this the entire trip. “Fuck off, Barton, I’m going.” 

Tony aimed a rude gesture at him before escaping down the hall toward the shower, cradling the mug against his chest near the arc reactor, hoping the warmth would help ease the overly familiar ache of a late night and poor sleep. Second thoughts were not going to get him anywhere at this point; the bags were packed.

___

The car broke down in southern Pennsylvania, of all places. Tony had been driving and a truck busted a tire immediately ahead of them, the thick rubber getting caught up underneath the convertible’s low undercarriage. Clint yelled a lot as they swerved off the shoulder, probably because he had been dozing off seconds before. A nasty clunking noise reached their ears when Tony braked to a slow stop in the grass. The truck had veered off to the shoulder ahead of them. He could see the driver climbing out the cab to check on the damage.

“Fuck.” Tony leaned his head on the steering wheel and pulled his sunglasses off. “This trip is off to a great start.”

Clint was patting his torso like he thought he’d been shot, which was probably a valid assumption for a secret agent that fell asleep indiscriminately. His eyes looked a little disoriented, even though the reflexes had been lightning fast. Tony was, unfortunately, intimately familiar with that look, having seen it in the mirror several times as of late. He had ultimately stopped looking in the mirror except to shave, and wondered if Clint had too.

“Calm down, it’s just a minor car accident. We’re not being attacked,” Tony told him, carefully watching Clint’s movements and demeanor out of the corner of his eye. “You’re fine.”

“Oh,” Clint finally said. He blinked several times and frowned at the truck ahead of them, and then at the austere scenery full of grazing cows to their right. He seemed to have caught on quickly to the current situation. “Where are we?”

“Pretty damn far from a decent garage. Also known as Pennsylvania.” Tony turned the engine off and sat back to rub his neck where he was already starting to feel the wrench of the sudden swerve.

“Great. That’s just...great. I hope you got a spare car folded up in the trunk or something.” Clint got out and moved away from the car to stretch, facing the ambling cows and obnoxiously cheerful greenery.

“No, it’s gonna have to be the old-fashioned way, with a wrench and some elbow grease.” And a desperate hope that the truck driver didn’t watch TV, read newspapers, go online, and had never been to New York or California, Tony thought bitterly. Low profile was never in his job description, but for Clint fame was extremely new and exciting in probably all the worst ways.

Tony popped the trunk and pulled out his travel toolkit, shifting their stuff from side to side looking for a jack. Eventually he pulled the bags out to get a better view. No jack. “Goddammit.”

“What? You were serious?” Clint reappeared at Tony’s side, also looking into the trunk and down at the toolbox. “You’re gonna fix it right on the side of the road?”

“Today is already turning into a circus, I’m not waiting for a tow truck too. What’s the point of having like seven PhDs if I can’t fix my own damn car?” Tony slammed the trunk closed and leaned on the spoiler. “...Except there’s no jack, so unless you can lift a car with those tree trunks we’re screwed.”

“Right, okay. We could ask that guy for one.” Clint pointed at the truck driver, who was ambling toward them.

Tony most definitely did not want to ask that guy, or talk to that guy at all, but it looked like they didn’t have a choice. He inhaled slowly, sliding his sunglasses back on. “Fine. I’ll do the tal--”

And then Clint was charming the pants off the truck driver. _Harvey_ , the guy said, _from Tuckahoe_. He was showing Clint the cab and laughing at his awful jokes. Christ, why. After the initial shock faded to a dull background confusion, Tony was much chagrined by the ease with which Clint was not only walking off with a manual jack, but also a U.S. road atlas, two sandwiches, and a six pack of Coke from the driver’s cooler. 

“I never pegged you for such a slick bastard,” Tony told him when they were out of earshot. He dropped down and started working on the slowly deflating tire. “Is that a mandatory class in spy school?”

Clint was putting the sodas in their own cooler, then unwrapped one of the sandwiches. He took a big bite before answering. “Ex-carnie. Way better for learning how to be a slimy little shit.”

Tony stared and Clint grinned at him around the sandwich.

___

Virginia was beautiful, and Tony decided to take the scenic route through Shenandoah National Park for a little while. They had the top down again after a brief late afternoon rainstorm, and the air was pleasantly warm and humid. While they had originally agreed to switch drivers every few hours, the reality turned out to be that Tony was doing most of the driving. He didn’t mind, really, since it gave him a rare opportunity to drive as much as he liked, without deadlines. Clint didn’t seem to mind the arrangement either, mostly spending his time leaning on the door to watch the scenery or examining his newly acquired road atlas. Also, far more infuriatingly, fiddling with the stereo every hour or so. They rarely talked, except to agree on the route and meal stops, but it was a comfortable silence.

Tony let his thoughts meander with the road, trying to stay away from wondering what Pepper was doing. Or what he was doing, because this right here was crazy. He hadn’t so much as left a note, let alone notify anyone where he was going, though both of them had gotten a cryptic smiley face text from Natasha soon after leaving. Tony suspected Clint had told her everything. He settled on speculating whether they were screwing like rabbits or not to keep his mind off his own problems. Their chemistry was weird, more like overly comfortable exes than passionate lovers. Both agents kept their personal lives close to the chest no matter how much they tended to pry into his. It was really annoying, actually.

Clint, who had been leaning over the edge of the door like a lazy dog, suddenly perked up, first watching the mirror and then turning to look behind them. 

The startled movement drew Tony back to the present. “What? Did I miss an exit?” he asked. Something about Clint’s frown and attentive stillness unsettled him.

“Naw, never mind. It’s nothing,” Clint replied. He leaned back in the chair and started fiddling with the skip button again. Tony swatted his hand away this time. Annoyed, Clint sat back in his seat and opened a bag of pretzels instead, crunching loud enough to wake the dead and getting crumbs all over the upholstery. 

___

“So where in Mexico are we actually going?” Clint stretched out on his hotel bed with a road map, tracing routes with his index finger. “Or are we just going to see where we end up?”

“Where do you want to go?” Tony started rearranging his suitcase, which looked like it hadn’t been packed properly in the first place.

Clint realized that for all the traveling Tony undertook, he probably almost never had to pack his own bags. “If you roll that stuff, it’ll fit better. And I like Cancun.”

Tony considered the suggestion and experimentally started rolling his t-shirts. “Please. Cancun is so touristy.”

Clint shrugged and put a little question mark in pencil by Cancun before measuring the distance with his pinky finger. “You asked. I haven’t spent much time on the Mexican coast, and most of it wasn’t any fun.”

“I’ll make you a deal, we each get to pick a place to visit. I’m gonna show you the best part of Mexico, and then I’ll try not to jump off a tall building in Cancun for you.” Tony gathered up his pajamas and toothbrush, disappearing into the bathroom.

Clint chuckled and called after him, “Deal.”

___

Something woke Clint up suddenly, and he shoved a hand under his pillow where he kept a switchblade. He didn’t remember making a conscious decision to fall asleep. There was someone in the room, but after the split second it took his eyes to adjust Clint realized it was only Tony bumbling around. “What’s up?” he asked roughly. His throat felt like it was sticking together in the dry hotel air.

Tony didn’t answer immediately, standing by the window though the curtains were closed tightly. “…What?”

“You okay?” Clint sat up and rubbed his face, disoriented from being woken up from a particularly heavy sleep. He’d been doing that a lot lately, and it bothered him a lot.

“Checking for curtains in the afternoon.” Tony stopped and frowned, confusion creeping into his expression. “Sure. Uh. Sorry, sleeping pills…I think,” he slurred.

“Okay, man, whatever. Not judging.” Clint shook himself fully awake and got up, guiding Tony by the elbow back over the other bed. He dropped in without much prompting, feet sticking out over the edge, and Clint tugged the blankets out from under him. Tony was asleep again by the time Clint finished pushing his feet back onto the mattress and rearranging the blankets over him. 

Clint wasn’t exactly shaken, but the incident bothered him and he went into the bathroom to get some water and settle down. There was a pill bottle on the counter with Tony’s name on it, and Clint picked it up and read the label. Ten-milligram Zolpidem, which is what he suspected when Tony suggested such influence after his nonsensical answer. Clint had never been on them himself, having the exact opposite problem these days, but he’d seen plenty of agents lose the ability to fall or stay sleep after certain missions. Natasha refused them repeatedly, though he knew from personal experience she would probably benefit quite a bit from a sleep aid. Still, he couldn’t blame her for her aversion.

An image of the wormhole above New York and a very limp Iron Man falling through the sky flashed across his vision unbidden. “Shit, Tony…” he said softly. _Guess we’re both pretty bad at talking it out, huh?_

Clint replaced the bottle where he had found it and took his water glass back to the room. Thankfully, Tony seemed to be settled in, snoring quietly into the pillow. Clint picked up his phone and sent a text to Natasha— _wish you were here right now_ —then put it on silent on the nightstand. He burrowed under his blankets, not feeling particularly sleepy or relaxed since getting up, and turned toward the other bed to keep on eye on Tony in case he decided to go for a walk again.

___

The Tennessee roadways were lined with some of the most shit motels Clint had ever experienced. They stayed in one because he wanted to, feeling aimless and hoping for at least a hint of nostalgia. Tony complained when they checked in, but there was no bite to it and Clint had an educated guess he liked the anonymity. They decided to get separate rooms in an effort to not get too sick of each other before the trip was over, though with some reluctance on Clint’s part after the sleeping pill incident. Though he didn’t voice his concerns out loud, he was relatively sure Tony caught on to his hesitance and looked faintly annoyed with him.

Clint discovered quickly that his room had a busted lock and the air-conditioner left a lot to be desired, but the bathroom exceeded rather low expectations. He liked low expectations; they created far less opportunities to be disappointed in his life. Clint wasn’t concerned about the lock, but he stopped by Tony’s room to drop off his stuff for the time being before he went off to find food. There wasn’t much to choose from, if the empty road to the motel was anything to go by, but they needed something after a long day of driving.

The nearest gas station with a convenience store was two miles down the road, according to the despondent desk clerk. Clint decided to run instead of drive, since it was just long enough to give his legs a decent warm up after driving for so long. He picked up beer and snacks based on quantity rather than quality, paid and stepped outside to tie up the bag into a more suitable shape for running. Tucked around the corner of the car wash, the black van he had seen from the road sat parked and quiet. Clint frowned at it while he stretched his quads, memorizing the license plate for a reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He jogged past, peeking quickly into the driver’s side window, but there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary visible inside and the rest of the windows were heavily tinted. He enjoyed the scenery on his way back to the motel and tried to put the van out of his mind.

Clint showered quickly, not wanting to stand on the mildew growing between the tiles too long, then pulled on some fresh clothes before going to knock on Tony’s door. The air that wafted out of the room was almost as muggy as the air outside, which suggested there wasn’t a single air conditioner in good working order in the entire place. “Jerky, chips, and cold-ish beer for dinner?” he said, holding up the plastic bags from the convenience store.

“Better than nothing,” Tony said with a slight frown.

It was hot as balls and the pool was clean, but the dead toad floating in it was off-putting. Instead they sat on stained plastic chairs on the walkway, tucked into the shade that offered a slight reprieve from the slow, thick air. Tony fanned himself with a faded pizza menu. “This beer is disgusting.”

“It was the best I could get at the gas station.” Clint shrugged. It was particularly bad; his tastes had changed since he drank this kind of dishwater on a regular basis. “Anyway, I don’t see you dumping it out.”

“True, though I’m probably going to regret all of this later.” Tony examined a piece of beef jerky in in the yellowed porch lights. “Is this even meat? I’ve never believed the labeling.”

“I doubt it,” Clint laughed. “Homemade is alright, but this stuff is only borderline edible.” 

“I must be getting old, I’m already sick of road food.” Tony dropped his unopened bag of chips back on the snack pile with a slight grimace. “You know, I could have some real food delivered in a couple of hours.”

“Hey, no! You’re the one that wanted to do this the old-fashioned way, don’t give up on me now.” Clint punched him lightly in the shoulder and handed over a second bottle, which was a testament to how comfortable they were becoming with each other when Tony didn’t even flinch at either.

“Is that what you and Natasha do on missions? Consume a load of junk food and sit around waiting for something to happen? I’ve always wondered what SHIELD agents actually do on a daily basis.” 

“Sometimes. Secret agent shit is not as exciting as the movies make it seem. Eventually you get to know so much about your partner that truth or dare loses its charm. You either start fighting about dumb shit or start fucking because there’s literally nothing else to do when you’re stuck in some ass backward little town getting paid peanuts to watch one shady dude scratch his balls for weeks.” Clint took a long drink and added as an afterthought, “The car chases are pretty great, though.”

“Well, that’s a vivid mental image I never wanted. Speaking of…” Tony wore a calculating expression, but was otherwise unreadable. “What’s with you and her? Are you together or what?”

“Nah, we’ve never been a thing. Well, maybe for a hot second back in the day before she defected, but we were always just friends.” Clint popped the top on a fresh bottle, his fourth. He didn’t mind answering questions about his relationship with Natasha to friends, but he had to wonder what Tony was really getting at by asking these personal questions. He decided to go with it, wherever the conversation ended up leading.

Tony raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That’s hard to believe.”

“What, you don’t ever have sex with your friends?” Clint should probably stop, he was going to get drunk if he kept at it and the alcohol wasn’t doing his brain-mouth filter any favors.

“…I’m not sure how to respond to that.”

“You know, like friends with benefits.” Clint wiggled his eyebrows suggestively one too many times while he took a sip, slipping into a fake tipsiness that he’d honed over years of undercover work. They may be becoming friends, but Tony didn’t know him well enough yet to spot the difference.

“I can’t tell if you’re trying to proposition me or if you’re just that much of a lightweight,” Tony laughed.

Suddenly, he had to know. Clint was feeling bolder the more they talked and he layered on a note of earnest curiosity over the feigned intoxication. “Would you mind if it was the former?”

Something flickered across Tony’s face, but a mask of easy amusement settled in too quickly to get a good read on it. “Depends on how much you’re offering.”

Damn. Clint decided to not read too much into that, but he was failing miserably.

___

Clint was doing handstand push-ups near the window, the mid-morning light nicely defining the frankly unnerving amount of musculature on his arms and shoulders. While he nibbled on a gas station special for breakfast, Tony did the math in his head how much force would be required to make some of the insane shots Clint seemed to make with ease, and the thought alone was enough to make his entire body ache. “I’m tired just watching you.”

“Like what you see?” Clint stopped long enough to smile and threw a playful wink across the room. There was a massive vein sticking out in his forehead and the whole effect was incredibly ridiculous.

“I’d be lying if I said no,” Tony admitted, thinking about the previous evening. While he kept deflecting with humorous half-flirting, he was pretty sure Clint was not really joking anymore. Maybe, eventually, he would figure out how he felt about that. “This is kind of unnerving to watch, though. Are you sure you’re not enhanced?”

Clint dropped down and hopped upright. “Only in my pants.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “I didn’t think it was possible, but your lines are worse than mine.”

Since Clint waved him off to go shower, Tony returned to his room to get ready himself, though he was mentally dragging his feet on getting into a small, enclosed space with Clint now. Safely behind a closed door and drawn curtains, Tony dropped face first on the bed and buried his face in the pillow with an unhappy groan. This trip was supposedly about running away from his problems for a while, not running headfirst into new ones. He slipped his phone out and turned his head just enough to see the screen and breathe unhindered. _Maybe going to do something stupid with someone stupid_ , he wrote to Rhodey, and shoved it back in his pocket without waiting to see if there would be a quick answer.

___

“Texas might actually be endless,” Tony complained as he dumped his bags on the bed. “So close, yet still so far.”

“So fucking true.” Clint was already under the blankets, still fully clothed, though he didn’t feel particularly tired for once. Bed just seemed nicer than dealing with Tony’s nervous energy filling up the room.

“Do you want something to eat? I’m hungry.” Tony picked up the car keys and his wallet after having just put them down. “I think I’ll go out to get something.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess. Anything is fine.” Clint climbed out of bed, thinking it would be a good time to start an epically long shower to try to relax while Tony was out.

“Okay, I’ll be back soon.” But Tony stopped and didn’t move further to the door. He shifted his weight several times, and dropped the keys on the dresser with a deep breath as Clint passed by on the way to the bathroom. “Screw it.”

Clint only had a second to wonder what that meant before Tony’s hand grabbed his arm and pulled him close, his chest scraping against the arc reactor through their shirts. Making out badly in a mediocre hotel room in Texas wasn’t remotely where Clint would have picked to start something with anyone he respected, but he also wasn’t willing to slow the momentum now.

In between biting kisses and ineffectual fumbling with clothes, Clint managed to get out, “What do you want to do?”

Tony paused, though his hands still moved under Clint’s shirt along his lower back. He kissed him again, slower, and answered quietly against his lips, “I was thinking about blowing you.”

“That sounds good, yeah.” Clint moved Tony’s hands down to his butt; he liked the heat and the way it felt after sitting in the car for so many hours straight.

Tony dropped down, reluctantly moving his hands down Clint’s outer thighs. “Did you know you have pretty much the most amazing ass I’ve ever seen?”

“Tell me more,” Clint grinned and unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his jeans.

“I couldn’t say no to those abs either.” Tony leaned forward, shifting uncomfortably between knees, then sat back on his heels looking faintly embarrassed. “Ah…this is not going to work. Grab me a pillow or something.”

“Why don’t we just move to the bed?” Clint kicked his pants off so they weren’t awkwardly hanging off his hips anymore.

Tony looked relieved and used the dresser to pull himself to his feet. In the few steps it took to cross the room, Clint discarded the rest of his clothes, hopping inelegantly as he pulled off his socks before hopping on the bed. “Like what you see now?” Clint wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. He was already hard from anticipation—lord, he needed to get laid more often if he was that turned on by a few minutes of clumsy groping.

“Impressive,” Tony laughed. He made no move to take off his own clothes, which Clint didn’t question. He knew enough to guess that bringing it up now would probably kill the mood.

After some adjustment, they figured out a comfortable position. Clint bit back a yell when Tony’s mouth came in full and sudden contact with his cock. He put a steadying hand on Tony’s head, fingers unable to gain purchase in his short hair and utterly failing to pull him up. “Whoa, that is way too fast.”

The second try was marginally better, but Tony demonstrated almost no skills or finesse at all. Eventually, he tried to go down too far and gagged. Clint started laughing, a hand coming up to hit his forehead.

“What…” Tony paused to cough weakly, massing the back of his neck, “what the fuck is so funny?”

Clint tried to stop laughing and ended up snorting. “Uhh, you? No pun intended, but I wasn’t really expecting you to suck at this.” 

“Hey, give me a break, I haven’t been with a guy since grad school.” Tony swiveled his gaze sideways and stared hard at the curtained window. 

The view was incredibly comical, with Tony starting to look slightly embarrassed, leaning on his elbows between Clint’s naked legs a few awkward inches away from his dick. Clint finally swallowed his laughter and nudged Tony’s shoulder with his knee. “It’s cool. I’m a little surprised, though.”

“I have a high profile reputation to maintain,” Tony said carefully as he shifted to run a finger lightly along Clint’s thigh.

“It’s cool, you don’t have to keep going. But I insist you get up here _and_ take your pants off.” Clint puckered his lips and made the most obnoxious kissing noises he could come up with to quell the sudden uneasiness between them.

“You’re ridiculous,” Tony said, but complied eagerly.

Clint kissed his throat slowly, tugging gently on the waistband of his jeans. “Don’t I know it.”

___

“Hey, it’s early. What’s up?”

“Hey,” Clint said very softly to the slightly worried image of Natasha on his phone screen. She looked disheveled and clearly had been asleep when he called. “Gotta show you something.”

Without moving single muscle apart from the hand holding the phone, Clint aimed the camera at the other side of the bed where Tony was still fast asleep in his t-shirt. He could hear Natasha’s stifled squawk and grinned when he brought the line of sight back to his face. “ _Is that Tony?_ ” she whispered forcefully, suddenly very awake and very close to the camera.

Clint continued to grin and nodded. “Cross one off the list.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Natasha groaned.

“Of course I don’t.” Clint climbed out of bed carefully and shuffled around for his pants. “I better go, coffee is calling.”

“Bye,” she sighed and hung up.

Clint did not, by any stretch of the imagination, have any inkling of what he had just gotten himself into. He wasn’t going to lie about that. ‘Ruining their friendship’ crossed his mind a few times, but rationally he doubted that very much.

The in-room coffee maker was about as fancy as they come, which meant that Clint didn’t have a clue how to use it. After several false starts, something finally happened that sounded and smelled about right. Tony was still out like a light while Clint was up at a decent hour, both of which were unusual but welcome developments. Clint sat in a chair and massaged his neck, yawning as he watched Tony sleep across the room. Was this a bad idea? The realization that he wasn’t panicked and uncomfortable like he expected suggested maybe he’d done a good, healthy thing for the first time in a long while.

Natasha certainly wasn’t wrong about Tony Stark—he was a bit weird and antisocial underneath the money, the handsome face, and the thin veneer of irritatingly matchless bravado. But she still cared for him, and Clint was starting to see why the more time they spent together. Tony got under your skin like a needle, an IV, something that moved around in your veins uncomfortably before the better effects of spending time with him ever reached your heart.

Clint poured his coffee and left the rest of the pot to warm while he moved over to peek out the window. The view was shit, covering mostly the parking lot and a few newly planted trees that looked awfully worse for wear in the Texas summer. Something bothered him about the scene outside that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, something making his skin crawl suddenly like he was being watched. There was the black van again, parked facing their third floor window. There was no one inside and Clint flicked the curtains closed, shaking his head to clear the sleepy uneasiness. The lack of action was probably making him paranoid and he convinced himself it was only another traveller heading in the same direction.


	3. Chapter 3

The south Texas sun was oppressive when they stopped for gas, cicadas droning in background. Clint looked out over the expanse of dry, scrubby landscape, squinting even through his dark sunglasses since the glare of the sun seemed to bounce off everything indiscriminately. Somewhere in the distance a dark spot moved along the road, alternately kicking up red dirt and briefly disappearing behind stands of trees. He was pretty sure it was the van he had been watching since Virginia, though until it got close enough to get a look at the plates he couldn’t be one hundred percent sure. Even Clint’s long-distance vision was not _that_ good, but his gut was telling him taking the scenic route might not have been a stellar idea.

Tony came out of the gas station with two extra large soft drinks and a bag of pretzels. Clint finished pumping the gas and grabbed his drink with a mumble of thanks.

“Are you going to make this weird? Because I’m not getting good vibes over here.” Tony sounded apprehensive despite clear efforts to appear nonchalant. By the tiny movements of his facial muscles, Clint could tell he was tracking his movements behind the sunglasses as he got into the driver’s side.

“No, sorry. Just distracted,” Clint answered with a quick smile. “I’ll be right back.” He walked away from the pumps toward the road, looking back down the road in the direction they came. The van wasn’t in sight at the moment, but a vague feeling of dread was building in Clint’s chest. 

Seconds later, the van appeared again, and this time Clint could see all the details clearly as it barreled toward the gas station. He recognized the license plate number instantly, but barely had time to register what it could mean when a head poked out the passenger window and trained a pair of binoculars directly on him. The man grinned, and Clint felt some of the blood drain from his face as he focused on the pair of vertical white stripes on the sleeve flapping in the breeze. Yeah, that explained a lot.

Clint turned and started sprinting back to the car, waving his arms wildly in the air. “START THE CAR!” he roared when he was a few feet away. Leaning into the back seat, Clint popped down one of the backrests and rummaged in the trunk until his hand made contact with his bow case and quiver.

Tony dropped the handful of pretzels he was about to eat all over his lap. “…What?”

“JUST DO IT!” Clint hopped into the front and opened the case to start assembling the bow while Tony complied. “Fuckin’ drive, man! We got company!”

Without trying for any further explanation, Tony peeled out of the gas station and onto the road in the direction Clint pointed. “Who is chasing us, Clint?” Tony sounded annoyingly calm as he eased into a higher gear, but he was still shouting to be heard over the wind. Clint needed the top down for what he was about to do.

“Just some guys that have been bugging me,” Clint yelled back, clambering into the backseat and ducking down as the first gunshot whizzed by his head. “Oof. MISSED ME, BRO!”

Tony swerved around a slow-moving pickup and Clint lost his balance again before he could aim at the van. “ _What guys_ , Clint? Why are they shooting at us?” He was starting to sound alarmed now that there were actual bullets involved.

“Hey, I got my own shit!” This time Clint did get an arrow off—it pierced the windshield but didn’t disturb the driver, who ducked just in time. “Cut out the interrogation or we’re gonna be toast.”

Tony didn’t answer, concentrating on maneuvering the car around traffic on both sides of the two-lane highway. Traffic was probably the only reason they hadn’t already outrun the van, which could never have matched one of Tony’s souped-up sports cars even when it was new. A bullet hit one of the taillights; Tony flinched and swore.

“Just keep going. I’ll take out the tires if I can get a clear shot. There’s too many civilians right now.” Clint was getting nervous. Their pursuers didn’t care about collateral damage, and that gave them a slight advantage. After they both passed the next car, he lined up a shot and hit the guy with the shotgun leaning out of the passenger window right between the eyes.

Clint was feeling pretty smug until the side door opened and a brute with a machine gun leaned out. “Oh, fu—” He had about five seconds to shove Tony’s head down and duck himself before the guy started firing. So much for the paint job.

Tony managed to get them in front of a semi, temporarily putting a wall between them and their trigger-happy pursuers.

“Oh my god, you have so much explaining to do.” Tony was breathing hard, hands gripping the wheel hard enough to turn bright white. “Remind me again why you convinced me not to bring the Mark VII.”

“Later. We have to get away from all these cars. Go right, down that dirt road.” Clint pointed to the side of the road where a break in the fence looked like possible salvation. There were two arrows nocked on the string already, waiting for the right moment. Hopefully, he could take out both front tires at once.

The dirt road was in a worse state than Clint had imagined, but at least the van was following them away from the highway. He stood on the backseat, bracing one knee on the headrest to help him keep his balance. “This would have been a great day for all-wheel drive,” Clint grumbled to himself, bouncing so hard his teeth rattled and he almost couldn’t lock on to the target.

The shot was true, and the van veered as both tires deflated quickly around Clint’s special expanding arrowheads. He barely had time to celebrate before Tony yelled a warning and their own front tire blew out on something sharp. The sudden jolt and change of velocity knocked Clint right out of the car. He went flying a few feet before skidding across the dirt. The rough ground tore through his clothes and grated his skin underneath. That was, of course, before the tree conveniently stopped his slide, knocking his head on a root. Right before Clint blacked out he could see the plates of Tony’s suitcase armor shifting into place around his legs.

___

Clint sat on the curb outside the hospital, looking glum around the bruising and bandages on his face. The scrubs and socks the medical staff gave him to replace his ruined clothes completed the picture of resolute dejection. He was sucking down water through a straw and watching with detached interest as Tony sat down next to him, folding several papers with discharge instructions on them into his pocket. They still needed to deal with the car situation, but after hours in the ER Tony felt more like crawling into bed at any nearby hotel than looking for a decent rental car. The sun was sinking fast anyway, which meant the SHIELD cleanup crew would likely be hauling off Tony’s convertible, and going back for it would be out of the question. At least Tony had had the foresight to grab a couple of their smaller bags to carry to the hospital with them.

“Only you could end up with concussive trauma on vacation,” Tony told Clint, slightly accusing. He leaned back on his hands and fixed him with an appraising gaze. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, grump face? If I have to keep guessing, I may decide to kill you myself.”

Clint sighed and fiddled with the label on his water bottle. “I might have ended up on the Ukrainian mafia’s most wanted list a while back. They’ve been following us…well, me, probably since we left New York.”

“Right, of course. The Ukrainian mafia, I should have known,” Tony replied with weak sarcasm, throwing up his hands. “Can I ask why?”

“Botched a job taking out one of their leaders,” Clint offered shortly. His clipped tone told Tony that there was clearly more to the story than that, but he either wasn’t at liberty to disclose or it was too personal to mention out loud. “Are they all dead?”

“Yes,” Tony replied reluctantly with a slight wince as he remembered. Everything following the accident was a bit of a blur and probably the dictionary definition of overkill. “You’re lucky you’re not dead too.”

“My literal knight in shining armor,” Clint drawled. “They’re not _all_ dead. There’s about twelve thousand more waiting for me back home.”

Tony turned to look at his friend’s face, trying to gauge if he was being completely serious. The bruises and puffy eye coupled with a pained, pinched expression made it hard to tell. “That’s…not at all reassuring.”

“Ugh.” Clint leaned his head on Tony’s shoulder.

Tony took pity on him and quit grilling him instead of prodding for a satisfactory answer. “We should probably find a car and a hotel for the night.”

“Good idea, I have about six concussions and they lost my shoes.” Clint stood up, perhaps a little too fast, as he wavered until Tony jumped up to grab his arm. “Don’t you dare tell Fury about any of this. I know where you sleep.”

“Uhh…right. I’ll have someone fly down to pick us up tomorrow,” Tony added, typing a note into his phone to have Jarvis find them a decent rental car company immediately. 

“Did I say anything about going home?” The look Clint was giving him bordered on unhinged, though the uneven pupils and black eye might have contributed to the effect.

Tony didn’t necessarily want to go home either, but it seemed prudent after what had happened. He frowned as Clint held his gaze, eyes narrowed in smug, stubborn defiance, and Tony couldn’t say no to that face. “You’re worse than me. Fine, but I’m driving the rest of the way.”

___

Tony and Clint climbed into the nondescript rented sedan late the next morning. Tony had stopped at a local Target earlier to replace all the things they lost when SHIELD confiscated his convertible, including some new suitcases. Luckily, Tony’s foresight had saved some of the most important items from being carted off, like their weapons and passports, but toothbrushes and fresh socks were a nice addition. 

“Let’s never talk about this again,” Clint said as they pulled out of the hotel parking lot. He looked almost as bad as he had the previous day right after the accident, and was sipping the largest iced coffee they could find through a bendy straw.

“Agreed,” Tony nodded once and handed Clint a brand new, extra large bottle of acetaminophen, and he tossed back two with a drink from one of the many water bottles Tony had placed around the car.

Tony drove in silence, forgoing the radio in the hope that Clint would fall back asleep as per the doctor’s orders that he get extra rest. The lack of interesting scenery and conversation did lull him to sleep fairly quickly, forehead pressed up against the window. Tony exhaled slowly, trying to regulate and deepen his shallow breathing. Since the accident his ribs had felt too tight around his lungs, like they were grinding against the arc reactor though if he concentrated he could tell there was nothing unusual going on. Clint was such a fucking suicidal idiot, that was all, and Tony had to admit that it scared him half to death. What kind of elite government agent stood in the back of a speeding convertible to shoot at heavily armed mafia thugs with a bow and arrow? Tony himself may have an arguably low self-preservation instinct in tough situations, but Clint behaved even in regular combat like he had nothing left to lose.

At the border crossing, Tony handed over their passports to a stony-faced man in sunglasses with some trepidation, covering a sudden sense of dread with his most winning smile.

Clint woke up, clearly groggy from his head injury, and reached for the water. “Wher’we at?” he asked roughly, blinking at their surroundings. “Border?”

“Yes,” Tony said tightly. He was irritated at how long this was taking, especially since the guy clearly didn’t want to allow them through and was now peering into the backseat. “Looks like we might have to turn around.”

Clint took a moment to let that thought sink in. “The hell we are, where’s my bag?”

Tony reached into the back seat and handed it to Clint, who pulled out a plain black wallet from the front pocket. The sudden movement didn’t go over well, and Tony could see the guy put a hand on his holster out of the corner of his eye. Admittedly, they did look suspicious with the mostly empty rental car and Clint all beat up, surrounded by cheap water bottles. The Stark name on his own passport was probably not helping either.

“I’m not really supposed to do this, but…. Just add another one to the list of things to not tell Fury, okay?” He tapped the window to get the patrolman’s attention to his side, and flipped open the wallet to flash his SHIELD badge and ID. He opened the window and Tony was surprised to learn that Clint spoke flawless Spanish, far better than Tony’s own command of the language. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been quite so surprised by that little revelation, but Clint played dumb and reckless so often it was easy to forget he was one of the best secret agents in the world.

After a short back and forth about their business in Mexico, in which Clint told a bald-faced lie about a top-secret mission, their passports were returned and they were waved through the gate. Tony let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding; it would have been about par for course if they had had to go home after everything.

___

They didn’t make it to Cancun. In fact, they didn’t make it as far as Tony’s surprise destination, instead lucking out with a hidden beach not too far from the border with a plain but comfortable motel nearby. A few local beachgoers and a snorkeler were their only company on that first day.

The water was so perfectly clear that it almost didn’t look natural. Tony added this location to mental list of the ten best beaches ever, and he’d been to a lot. He wiggled his toes in the wet sand, wishing he could take his shirt off without being noticed. Nearby, Clint flopped around in the shallows like an easily excitable dog, having discarded everything except his ugly plum-colored swim trunks. He had a terrible farmer’s tan from hanging his arms out the windows on the drive down, but the tan lines were oddly endearing on such a sculpted figure. Tony kind of wanted to kick him in the rear for being a brazen show off.

“You know, whoever said the journey was more important than the destination was full of shit,” Clint called from the sandbar.

“In this case that is exceptionally true,” Tony answered. Whatever life crisis he thought he was running away from by aimlessly driving cross-country, it seemed embarrassingly unimportant now that they were here, enjoying the sun and surf in good company. 

Perhaps tomorrow Tony would work up the nerve to go in the water. Monday mornings were probably better for avoiding prying eyes. He walked back to their stuff, sitting on his towel and leaning back on both hands as he watched Clint thoroughly enjoying himself. They hadn’t even bothered to stop for snacks after checking in to the motel, so eager were they both to start the real vacation after everything that had gone wrong. Tony had a good feeling that the rest of the trip would be blissfully uneventful.

“What?” Clint emerged from the water and came over to drip on Tony before settling onto his towel.

Tony leaned away and peeked over his sunglasses. “Nothing, just admiring the view.”

Clint laughed and stretched out on his stomach, head pillowed on one arm. There were scars on his shoulders visibly paler than the rest of his skin in the bright sunlight. A few were small and puckered, probably bullets, with one long jagged gash knit together at the small of his back. Several new ones were forming on his side and arm from the accident, sufficiently scabbed over to keep the sand out, though, unlike the old scars, they would probably fade over time. Tony avoided all of them when he lightly ran his hand over Clint’s back, smoothing off the water droplets and grains of sand. 

“What are we doing with this?” Clint asked, continuing to stare out at the surf.

Tony’s stomach turned when he thought about how much he already wanted to like _this_ , even if they didn’t have a name for it yet. “I don’t know, can’t we just play it by ear for now?”

“You shouldn’t date me. I’m only good for a one night stand, I’m not a good catch.” The delivery was humorous, but there was also a note of trepidation underlying Clint’s tone. Tony had learned enough about Clint in the past two weeks that he was relatively sure they were having the same doubts about the rapidly evolving state of their relationship.

“That makes two of us,” Tony muttered.

“Seriously, I’ve got a string of exes as long as—” 

Tony stabbed a finger into the back of his head. “If you say ‘as long as my dick’ I’m leaving you at the border.”

Clint turned his head and grinned. “You know me way too good already.”


End file.
